


Lolita!Justin

by Magz (sparklepocalypse)



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: At least Justin thinks so, Extreme age differences [cross-generational], Justin is 17 so it's mostly okay probably, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-03-15
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepocalypse/pseuds/Magz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin's the new boy in town, and he's got his eye on Brian.  Only problem is that Brian's his new best friend's dad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was an unspoken rule that once you hit thirty-five, Babylon was off-limits. Nobody wanted to go home with someone who was starting to show their years. Only the most daring men walked through the front door once they'd reached thirty-eight, and thirty-nine was out of the question.

Brian Kinney was the exception to the rule.

When you were forty years old, and looked and felt ten years younger the minute the throbbing pulse of hard trance hit your system, the twentysomethings didn't mind so much.

He leaned against the bar, absently sipping at his drink, waiting for them to come to him. Young, pouty-lipped, glassy-eyed men approached him, touching him and themselves suggestively. He'd had most of them once, and didn't care to repeat the experiences.

Resigning himself to having to pick up someone he'd already fucked, Brian made his way onto the dance floor, hooked his fingers into the belt loops of the nearest trick, and started to dance. The trick was all over him, grabbing his ass and sucking on his Adam's apple. Brian wasn't very turned on. He glanced up at the dancers, ceasing his own motions immediately.

High on a platform was a dancer he'd never seen before, his skin glowing in the club lights and covered with glitter. He wore a tight black pair of the briefest shorts possible and a nearly orgasmic expression as he gyrated against the pole on the platform, then did a half-backbend over the railing. He wore his youth like livery; in his flexibility and in the still-soft places on his body that adulthood hadn't yet firmed.

Brian wanted him.

The dancer straightened and wrapped a leg around the pole, shimmying and sliding up and down it with fluid movements. He turned and planted his feet shoulder-width apart, then grabbed his ass and humped the air. When he faced in Brian's direction again and licked his lips, Brian's cock poked the guy still dancing at him.

Brian pulled $50 from his front pocket and walked around the trick, headed straight for the platform.

On a slow bend, the dancer flashed him a smile, then winked and swung around the pole once. Brian stopped in front of the platform and the dancer draped a leg over the railing, performing a heart-stoppingly hot circlegrind of crotch against metal. Then he turned away, bent over far enough so the cheeks of his ass were nearly completely exposed by the shorts, and took the bill from Brian's outstretched hand.

Brian stood, transfixed, as the dancer turned to him again, hips twitching. He watched the dancer unzip his shorts and was treated to another arresting grin as he slid the $50 into the waistband of his G-string, then zipped back up and spun away, running slender fingers through his short blond hair.

Brian really wanted to see the rest of that G-string.

He backed up slowly, his eyes still on the glimmering blond, then turned away, rubbing his crotch and heading for the backroom. Two shirtless tricks followed him. Brian removed his own shirt and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. When the first touch never came, he opened his eyes again, slowly, dragging them up the same glittered body that he'd been admiring before. He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm taking a break," the dancer said. He touched Brian's waist lightly, then slid his hands up his torso. Glitter from his hands stuck to Brian's chest, and he leaned forward and pressed an openmouthed kiss to the dark-haired man's collarbone, pulling back with glittery lips.

Brian's hand found the back of the dancer's head - he immediately catalogued the texture of his hair as soft and so silky it was almost disgusting - and pulled him back in. Strong hands, smaller than his own, flattened against his lower back and he closed his eyes again, tilting his head back as blunt teeth closed lightly around one of his nipples.

The dancer slid a hand over Brian's crotch and squeezed. Brian cupped his shoulders and pushed him away, turning him to face the wall. He slid a hand across the blond's groin, taking the tab of the zipper on his shorts between thumb and forefinger and sliding it down.

The G-string was silk.

The blond's hand slipped under his, pulling out a wad of cash and holding it in one fist against the wall. Brian spun him around again, yanking down the shorts and admiring him once more. He hooked an index finger in the front of the scrap of material and tugged it down, revealing the blond's cock. His eyes met the dancer's and he took his hand, drawing it down and wrapping it around the exposed shaft. Guiding it in a few smooth pulls and then withdrawing his hand, he positioned the blond so he faced the wall once more, then pulled the garment down in the back.

He spent a long moment learning the shape and firmness of the boy's ass, palming and squeezing it, drawing his fingers down the crack, circling them around the twitching hole, over and over. "Are you going to fuck me," the dancer finally asked, "or are you just going to play with my ass until I have to get back to work?"

Brian was sorely tempted to do the latter. However, his cock was now demanding to be inserted into something hot and tight, and the dancer's ass looked like a very good fit.

He pulled the little packet of lube and the condom from his pocket almost mindlessly, still running his middle finger up and down the blond's crack. The lube was torn open, the little tip of the packet pressed against the tight hole that Brian was impatient to get inside. He squeezed.

"Ah, fuck! That's cold. Give a guy some warning, would you?" the dancer hissed.

The dark-haired man unzipped his pants and rolled the condom on one-handed, pressing his dick against the dancer's ass. "It'll warm up," he murmured, bending his knees to line up the head of his dick with the blond's tight little hole.

The blond pushed back against Brian as he thrust in, clutching the money tightly in his fist and bracing his other hand flat against the wall. He let out a garbled moan. "Christ, you're big," he muttered.

"Thanks," Brian said. He lowered his head and drew his hips back, then thrust in again. The dancer's ass was tight, hot, and clung to his cock like it didn't want him to leave. He could get used to the feel of the blond - take him home and teach him what it was like to be fucked by Brian Kinney - but then he remembered the pile of paperwork sitting on his desk at home. He pressed his forehead between the blond's shoulder blades and groaned.

When he lifted his head, his brow glittered, but he didn't care as he rolled his hips against the dancer's ass, his cock sliding in and out smoothly. His hands slipped over shimmering, sweat-slicked skin, struggling to find a good grip on the blond's hips. He licked a wet swath up the side of the dancer's throat, rolling his taste across his tongue. He growled softly in his ear.

The blond gave as good as he got, pushing back against Brian with every thrust. He moaned and arched his back, and Brian wished for a moment that he could see his face.

Another dancer approached. "Hey Justin - better get back out there, Sap'll get pissed if you're gone much longer."

The dancer nodded. "I'll be right back out," he said between humps back against Brian's crotch. "Can you hurry this up?" he asked Brian.

Brian pushed him up solidly against the wall, fucking him mercilessly. "Question is, will you be able to walk back to your platform after?" He thrust hard and fast, jerking the blond back and forth with each snap of his hips.

"I guess we'll find out," the dancer groaned, his knuckles growing white around his money as his cock pulsed and his come shot against the wall.

One long lunge later, Brian slumped against his back. He stayed there for a brief moment, then pulled out and tied off the condom. He zipped up his jeans and flung the condom in the general direction of a trash bin near the entrance to the backroom.

Without a second glance at the dancer, he left the backroom.

The blond leaned against the wall for a moment, then pulled on his outfit again and squared his shoulders, returning to his platform.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin's the new boy in town, and he's got his eye on Brian. Only problem is that Brian's his new best friend's dad.

Brian walked into his living room after work on Friday to find all of his furniture covered in sheets and three giant-sized canvases splattered liberally with paint, drying on his floor. That could only mean one thing - his son had passed up on date night with the girlfriend of the month to make use of his spacious living room, for a project.   
  
He took off his coat and, not having a couch to toss it on, he draped it over one arm and headed through the house. "Gus?" he called.   
  
"I'm in my room!"   
  
Brian walked down the hallway, stopping in front of his son's bedroom door, which was ajar. He pushed it wider. "Are you planning on cleaning up after yourself?" he asked, leaning into the room. "As much as I like the Jackson Pollock look, I'm not sure it fits with the style of furniture in my living room."   
  
Gus Peterson-Marcus looked up at his father, then turned his attention back to his television. His lanky body was spread over the bed, and his clothes were flecked with paint. "I can't move the canvases until they're dry," he said.   
  
The toilet flushed and Brian leaned out into the hallway, eyeing the bathroom door. "Got a friend here?" he asked.   
  
"Yeah," Gus said with a shrug.   
  
"I was thinking about the middle part, and I realized that there was definitely some red missing from it," Gus' visitor said as he stepped out into the hallway.   
  
Brian nearly dropped his coat. He blinked a few times. The person walking toward him, talking about art was the same dancer he'd fucked in the backroom at Babylon earlier in the week. He cleared his throat.   
  
"Justin, this is my dad, Brian Kinney. Dad, this is Justin Taylor, he's in my art class," Gus said, his eyes never leaving the television screen.   
  
The blond's features reflected shock, then settled on amusement. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Kinney," he said, smirking a little.   
  
Brian swallowed, moved his coat to his left arm, and extended a hand, which Justin took, and shook. "Likewise," he said. He turned to his son again. "I'm going to need the living room back at some point this evening, Gus." He glanced down at his hand when Justin extricated his own from his grip. "You can order in when you're done cleaning up."   
  
Then he walked calmly to his bedroom, to deal with the fact that a few days earlier, he'd fucked a high school senior.   
  
\-----  
  
Brian lost his concentration the minute Gus walked into his office and flopped down in an easy chair opposite his desk. "I ordered Chinese," he said.   
  
"That's - " Justin sat down in the chair next to Gus'. " - fine," Brian finished. He forced himself to look away from the blond. "Did you put away all of your sheets?"   
  
Gus nodded. "Do you want to see it?" he asked. "It might be the best thing I've ever made." He paused. "Y'know, even though Justin did most of it."   
  
"I'm sure you did fine on it yourself, Gus," Brian said. There was a smudge of blue paint along Justin's jaw line, and he wondered if it'd be too forward of him to wipe it off with his thumb. He stood and stretched. "Show me."   
  
Gus beamed. It was rare that his father wanted to see his work. Then again, it was rare that he did his work at his father's house. "C'mon." He motioned for Brian to follow him to the entertainment room, where the three large canvases were propped up against the pool table.   
  
The colors and patterns in the splatters looked as if they'd been put there with the room in mind. He stepped back and looked at them. "It's... something," he said finally. "What's it for?"   
  
"It's for our art final," Justin said.   
  
Brian looked over at him. The paint was still on his face. "You missed a spot when you were cleaning up," he said, turning his attention back to the project.   
  
The blond wiped at his face.   
  
"Justin transferred in three weeks ago. Ms. Andrews said he didn't have to do his own final, so he volunteered to help me out, because I was working by myself." Gus leaned against the bar and crossed his arms. His stance reminded Brian of the one he usually took in the various Liberty Ave. establishments.   
  
"That's very... charitable of him." Brian scrutinized the painting some more, finally finding a human form hidden and trisected on the canvases. "Who was the model?" he asked, motioning toward the canvas.   
  
"There wasn't one," Gus replied. "The assignment was to take a famous painting and stylize it as if we'd done the original. I chose Paul Delvaux's  _Venus Asleep_  for my subject, and..." he motioned at the canvases.   
  
"I'm impressed." Brian walked behind the bar and poured himself a double of scotch.   
  
The doorbell rang. "That's probably the food. I'll go get it," Gus said. He left the room.   
  
Brian downed his scotch in two gulps. "So, Justin," he said. "What do your parents think about your current employment?"   
  
Justin paled, but covered it well. "They don't care," he replied. "They're proud of me for putting money into my savings account and keeping it there." He leaned against the bar and smiled. "Why, do you have a problem with it?"  
  
"Not particularly." The older man poured himself another drink. "That said, what happened on Tuesday night will _never_  happen again."   
  
Justin, the little fucker, just kept smiling.   
  
\-----  
  
Gus was asleep, Justin had gone home, and Brian was staring at the three painted canvases that dominated his entertainment room. If he looked closely, he could make out a naked woman in a reclining position. There was blue slashed across the center, an unapologetic bright swath of cool color standing out from the reds and oranges that otherwise dominated the work.   
  
Brian picked up his telephone and dialed.   
  
On the other end, it took three rings for someone to pick up.  _Novotny-Bruckner residence._    
  
"Mikey? You need to come over." He swirled the scotch around in his glass. "I really fucked up this time."


	3. Lolita!Justin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin's the new boy in town, and he's got his eye on Brian. Only problem is that Brian's his new best friend's dad.

The Taylor family lived in an upscale, two-story house in one of the wealthier neighborhoods of Pittsburgh. A highly paid professional had tastefully decorated each room of their home. Their pool had cost them a small fortune to install.

The Taylors were well respected in their social circle. They'd moved to Pittsburgh in the hopes of escaping the rumors about their son's sexuality. Craig Taylor had denied everything, of course. But when Justin started coming home late, his skin flecked with glitter, smelling of alcohol and sweat and tobacco, and wearing clothes he'd outgrown a year before, there'd been a confrontation.

Justin didn't live there anymore.

The walls of Justin's apartment, painted a dull gray to cover up graffiti and stains left by previous tenants, were covered with artwork, held up by tacks and glue and whatever else he could find to make things stick. A large abstract sculpture dominated the main room, a round sheet of Plexiglas dividing it neatly in half. It made a handy table.

There was a tiny kitchen, and an even tinier bathroom that caused him to perform some interesting acrobatics when trying to step out of the shower. The shower door opened so that he had to stand on the toilet seat for a minute while he closed up the stall again, and then he could get past and out of the room. When dining, he sat in beanbags or on the floor. His bed was a foldout foam chair he'd purchased at Wal-Mart.

His books and awards sat in a second-hand, fairly beaten-up bookshelf he'd found on a street corner. He'd painted it red and orange and yellow and black. It sat behind the front door.

His work outfits hung on a rack over the bathroom door, each more revealing than the next. His vanity mirror, the one luxury he'd afforded himself simply because it was a necessity for his job, hung on the kitchen wall above the counter where a row of containers filled with body makeup sat. His face was a blank canvas, and each night it became a different work of art.

Justin was asleep on his foam foldout bed when the telephone rang. It was an old phone, made in the nineteen-seventies, but he hadn't been able to afford a new one yet. He could barely pay the telephone bill as it was.

He rolled off the makeshift bed and stumbled to the kitchen, standing in front of the phone for a moment and scratching his belly. He lifted the receiver. "What?" He held the telephone to his ear with his shoulder and turned to the refrigerator, looking for breakfast. "I thought I told you I didn't want to talk to him, Mom."

He took two eggs out of the box, along with some butter, and rummaged for a frying pan. "Because he doesn't want to have anything to do with me. You heard him." The pan slipped out of his hands. "Shit. No, I'm not swearing at you, Mom." He picked up the pan and set it on the stovetop. "He said that he doesn't have a son. That's fine with me. I'm doing okay on my own."

The spatula was lying, dirty, in his sink. He washed it off. "I don't want to try to reason with him. I'm not going to apologize for being gay, Mom. That's not how it works. Listen, I have to eat breakfast and go, or I'll be late for school. Tell Molly I said hi."

He scrambled his eggs one-handed as he grasped the phone with the other hand. "Love you too. Bye." He hung up and wiped at his eyes. "Fucking allergies," he said to the empty kitchen as he added salt and pepper to his eggs.

\-----

Brian stared at the painting in his entertainment room. It'd been sitting in the same place for three days now, and whenever he'd come in to have a drink, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off it. Even when Michael had been lecturing him about checking his tricks for ID before he fucked them, he'd been looking at the painting the entire time.

_"Would you look at me when I'm talking to you?" Michael demanded, with his hands on his hips._

Brian tore his gaze from the fluid brushstrokes and brilliant colors. The streak of blue nearly glowed in his peripheral vision as he turned to his best friend.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself. Do you know what kind of trouble you could be in?" the shorter man ranted.

Brian poured himself a shot. "I'm well aware of the situation I've gotten myself into, Mikey," he replied. "That's why I said 'I really fucked up' when I called you, remember?"

"What happens if his parents find out? You could get sued, Brian. You could go to jail."

"Age of consent is sixteen in Pennsylvania," Brian said. He downed the shot and poured another.

"It just looks bad. He's what, seventeen or eighteen, and you're forty. There's a big difference there." Michael plopped down on a barstool. "And all this worrying about you is going to make me have high blood pressure. Stop doing this to yourself. Not to mention, to me." He took the filled shot glass out of Brian's hand and tossed it back. "Thanks. I needed that."

Brian stared at the painting again.

"What's so interesting about that painting, anyway?" Michael asked.

"I'm not sure."

Brian downed his shot of Beam and left the room.

"Dad, can you give me a ride to school?" Gus asked as Brian entered the living room.

The older man looked at his son for a moment. "Aren't you supposed to be at your moms' place today?"

"Mom dropped me off on the way to the firm," Gus replied. "I need to bring the painting to school today. I was hoping you could take me over before you had to be in the office?" He smiled winningly.

Brian cursed under his breath. His son was too charming for his own good. "Sure. Do you need help loading it into the car?"

"Nah. I got it. Thanks, though." Gus smiled again and walked into the entertainment room. "Justin's gonna meet me at the front of the school to bring them inside," he called. He walked through the living room a moment later with two of the three sections, one under each arm.

"So all I get to do is drive," Brian said. He went to his study to gather up the paperwork for today's accounts, filing everything and placing it in his briefcase. He checked his desk to make sure he had everything, then closed up his case. "Have you eaten breakfast?" he asked.

"Yeah, Mom shoved a pack of Pop Tarts at me when she dropped me off." Gus plopped down on the couch and turned on the television.

Brian cleared his throat.

"What?" Gus asked.

The older man glanced at the television, then back at his son. "Remember what I said about TV before school?"

"Don't watch it unless I want my brain to melt out my ears during algebra class, I know." He turned it off. "I'm bored."

"So go get in the car. You'll be early, and maybe I'll make it to work on time."

\-----

On the bus, Justin drew an old woman sitting across the aisle from him. He smiled a little as his pencil scratched across the page, barely noticing when it was his stop.

He shoved the sketchbook into his messenger bag and got off, walking the half-block to the school. Gus was leaning against a high-end luxury car, waiting for him. "Hey," Gus greeted.

"Am I late? I thought we said 7:30." Justin checked his watch.

"Nah," Gus replied. "I'm early. My dad wanted a head start, but I convinced him to wait around until you showed, so I wouldn't have to stand in front of the school with three huge canvases." He opened the back door of the car, pulling one of the three sections out, then another, carrying them as he had when he'd loaded them in.

Justin leaned into the car and pulled out the remaining canvas. "Good morning Mr. Kinney," he said with a lazy grin that Brian caught in the rear-view mirror.

"Good morning, Justin," Brian returned. He saw the blond lean closer to him in his mirror, feeling his breath ghost across the shell of his ear. "Good to see you again."

"Likewise. Thanks for giving Gus a ride. I'm not sure how we'd have gotten the project here otherwise." Justin smiled again, then stepped out of the car and closed the door.

Brian cleared his throat, adjusting his mirrors to watch as Justin walked away, his ass swaying. Then he cursed to himself and pealed out of the school's parking lot.

"What was that all about?" Gus asked, pointing in the direction of his father's retreating vehicle.

"Just wanted to thank him for bringing the project," Justin replied, smile still firmly in place.

Gus shrugged and followed the blond into the building.


	4. Lolita!Justin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin's the new boy in town, and he's got his eye on Brian. Only problem is that Brian's his new best friend's dad.

The second Friday night that Brian walked into Babylon and saw Justin up on his platform, he ignored him.

The third Friday night, when Justin had moved down to the bar and his g-string was getting stuffed full of bills by horny, groping men, Brian looked the other way.

The fourth Friday night, when Brian saw a guy who was five years younger than him, but looked fifteen years older, leading Justin into the back room, Brian decided it was time for action. He squared his shoulders, downed his shot of Grey Goose, and marched into the backroom, then dragged Justin out by his ear.

"Blondie doesn't work here anymore," he informed the manager on the way out.

Justin had the sense to twist away from Brian's grasp before they reached the door. "You just cost me my job, you fucker!" he shouted.

Brian looked at Justin blandly. "So sad, that Johnny High School doesn't get to sell his ass anymore. Guess you're gonna have to run to Mommy and Daddy for money now. Get your shit, I'm taking you home."

"I _needed_ this job," Justin seethed. "You'd better have a plan all set for how I'm going to get $300 a week from now on." Then he stomped off down a side corridor. He returned wearing not much more than he had been five minutes before.

"Is that everything?" Brian asked, and at Justin's angry glare, he shook his head. "Come on."

Five minutes later, with Justin glaring out his car window, Brian drove in the direction of the teen's parents' house.

"You're going the wrong way," Justin said. "I live in the other direction."

"I know where I'm going," Brian replied.

"No you don't," Justin countered. "'Craig Taylor's son isn't a fucking fag,'" he recited. "I live on... by the river."

Brian glanced over at him. "You're too young to live in that part of town," he muttered. "You can sleep in my guest house, provided nobody has decided to do that already tonight."

"Just take me home," Justin said through slightly gritted teeth.

 _Anger management, anger management, 1... 2... 3..._ Brian thought to himself. "So that someone could rob you, or mug you, or worse?" he said in what he thought was a calm, albeit tense, tone of voice. "You're Gus' best friend. He'd be pissed off if something happened to you."

"What about you?" Justin asked. A warm hand slid over Brian's thigh.

Brian seized Justin's wrist and gently, but firmly, removed the wandering fingers from his leg. "I am being a good father, and making sure the things my son cares about don't end up broken, or beaten and left for dead in an alley. You can stay in my guest house as long as you'd like, as long as we're clear that you're going to..." Brian slapped Justin's hand away again, "... act like a fucking teenager, and not a little boywhore. I find out that you're getting a side income, you're out on your ass."

"I _do_ need money," Justin said. He seemed to be getting over the fact that he'd just lost his job because of the man sitting next to him in the car, and warming rapidly to the fact that he'd no longer be living in a hovel. "For my art supplies. They're not cheap."

"How do you feel about yard work?"

\-----

Brian was lounging on a float in his swimming pool, _not_ checking out his new tenant as he showed off that lithe little dancer's body in just a pair of cut off shorts and a strong application of SPF 45, while watering the plants along the pool border with a garden hose. He was also not eyeing said tenant while he washed the plate-glass windows and door leading from the pool into the house, and while he weeded around a the same border plants he'd just watered. Brian thought the area surrounding the pool had never looked better, even if the rest of the yard was looking slightly neglected.

Gus came over, and Brian played his new favorite game: Look Anywhere But At Justin. The two teenagers disappeared into the guest house and emerged a few hours later, clothing splattered in paint. Brian decided not to mention that while they'd been imitating Van Gogh, he'd been mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges and sweeping off the walk and raking the grass clippings and doing pretty much everything else that Justin hadn't done.

Brian knew when he was being seduced.

That didn't mean he had to give in to it.

\-----

"Here," Justin said, and he thrust a folded-up piece of notebook paper into Brian's hand before walking out of the kitchen and across the yard to the guest house.

Brian watched the door close before looking down at the paper in his hand and unfolding it.

_I know it's not much, but I was thinking maybe I exchange art for rent money. Minimalism is out, Mr. Kinney. - Justin_

Staring up at him from the notebook paper were Gus and himself.

\-----

"By all means, help yourself," Brian said as Justin took off with his sesame noodles.

"Thanks," Justin said, mouth half-full.

The back door closed quietly behind him and Brian shook his head.

\-----

"The shower in the guest house isn't working," Justin said, leaving wet footprints as he walked across the tile floor to the door. His towel slipped a little bit when he reached for the door handle, and Brian closed his eyes for a minute. The towel dropped completely, just outside the door, and Brian returned to his office to look over financial reports.

Contrary to popular belief, reviewing really tedious numerical data doesn't help to diminish a hard-on one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another abandoned WIP. Pretty sure I just need to write the whole thing and then post it.


End file.
